


Phon Coast

by TheBlackMorals



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Confessions, Father-Son Relationship, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 03:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21421510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlackMorals/pseuds/TheBlackMorals
Summary: The confessions at Phon Coast regarding Balthier's background.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Phon Coast

Finally, they make it to the safety of the beach. The sand is the most gentle yet brilliant hue of yellow, and the sun is high upon the azurean midday sky. The buoyant waves and the seaweed, as deeply green as any high summer foliage against the sparkling blue. They pass the softly rolling dunes with the tall grass that whispers so sweetly into the gentle breeze, the random palm trees swaying to a melody unheard. 

Vaan and Penelo walk in the front, the two Rabanastan gutter churls' eyes the size of teacup saucers as they take in the sight and fill their lungs with the salty tang of the sea. Never have they beheld a sight quite like this before, both born and bred in the arid desert of Dalmasca. Giddily, Vaan yells; “Race you to the water!” and starts running, and Penelo, laughing brightly, races right after him; the two of them seemingly oblivious to the foreboding mood that surrounds the elder members of their party.

Basch, in quiet reflection, follows behind them, walking in front of Baltheir and Fran. At last, the Princess. Consumed in thoughts, Ashe nearly trips over nothing in particular, and much to her surprise, finds Baltheir’s hand there to steady her. His touch is warm, gentle, his fingers slightly calloused. She looks at him with an almost dazed expression, her shields lowering for just for a moment, then she quickly withdraws her hand and turns away. Balthier rolls his eyes with a groan of disapproval, annoyed by her opaqueness regarding the matter at hand. Ever the smartest person in the room, it deeply unsettles him that he cannot calculate her next move. It forces him to _ask_.

“Why the capital?” 

Ashe stops dead in her tracks, her back turned to him. He can’t hear it, but he can see that she takes a steadying breath, her shoulders tense. “The Nethicite.” she says, none of her usual bravado present in her voice, “I must destroy it.”

“Are you sure? You don’t want it for yourself?” Balthier drawls deliberately cockily, resting his hands on his hips, “Use the power to restore Dalmasca - something like that?” 

When all she does it gasp quietly at the question, obviously guilty of the accusation, Balthier shakes his head with a frown. He feels anger whelming up in his chest, but not at her. No, this anger is old, festered. “The best intentions invite the worst kind of trouble.” he adds, sounding almost defeated.

“Lusting for ever greater power, blinded by the Nethicite.” Ashe turns to look at him then, indignant, exasperated and angry at her own fate, “Is that how you see me?”

Balthier merely walks past her, breathing in the warm summer breeze, yet it does nothing to lighten his mood, nor temper the tightness in his chest. The princess follows closely behind him. 

“That _does_ sound like someone I know.” 

Balthier spares a glance at the rest of their party; the Viera and the Knight are standing under the shade of a palm tree watching the laughing churls and the sparkling waves. The scene is almost idyllic, a sharp contrast to his acrid confession. “He was obsessed with Nethicite. It was all he cared about. He’d babble nonsense, blind to aught but the stone’s power. He’d talk about some ‘Eynah’, or was it ‘Venat’? No matter.” Balthier says this quietly to himself, his voice heavy with anger and regret, “Everything he did, he did to get closer to the Nethicite, to understand it. He made airships, weapons… He even made me a judge."

Ashe stops dead in her tracks, her lips parted in surprise and her eyes wide. If it hadn't smarted so much to confess, he might just have smirked at her expression. “You were a… a _Judge_!?"

Balthier keeps walking. “Part of a past I’d rather forget.” he says with the slightest shrug, then stops to watch his own shadow stretch across the glittering yellow sand, “It didn’t last long. I ran. I left the judges… and him.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks at the horizon, without really seeing it at all. “Cidolfus Demen Bunansa. Draklor Laboratory’s very own _Doctor Cid_.” He says the last part with such disdain, and his hands curl into fists in his pockets. “That’s when he lost his heart to Nethicite, lost himself.” Balthier looks up at the sky again, licking his chapped lips. “And I suppose that’s when I lost my father.”

Or, as it were, that was when _Ffamran Mied Bunansa_ had lost his father. 

Ffamran, prodigy of Archadia's reputable House Bunansa, had always absolutely revered his father. Born as the youngest of three brothers, the budding aristocrat was given the absolute best tutoring available, which caused him to excel in his early years. Even beyond his brothers. This was of course noted by his father, who in turn pushed him to achieve what his brothers could not. As a result, Ffamran became ingrained in Archadian society, learning all about its laws and intricacies early on, and that mixed with his talent for martial arts, led him to become part of the Archadian military at an unprecedented young age. But that wasn’t enough, not for Cidolfus Demen Bunansa. No, on Ffamran’s sixteenth birthday, Cidolfus used his influence to get Ffamran promoted to the prestigious position of Judge, the literal extension of the Archadian judicial system. The gesture was bold, full of nepotism, and it showed the great confidence Cidolfus had in his youngest son. 

And it was, of course, an absolute honor for Ffamran to become a Judge. At home, however, things had become increasingly more difficult, due to his father’s increasingly rather odd behavior. Six years prior, Cidolfus had led a search party which had uncovered the Ancient City of Giruvegan; this was his first encounter with the magicked stone, Nethicite. From that day forward, Cidolfus spent more and more time at the Draklor Laboratory, consumed by the Nethicite and his inventions. And as Ffamran matured in the years to follow, he soon realized he had lost the father he had once known and loved, and it weighed heavy on his heart. He came to realize that the life he had was no longer the life he wanted; watching his father’s enslavement to the stone made him crave freedom the most, and he fled Archadia soon after, and his position as a Judge.

Fled his life, his family...

Realizing he has been lost in his own thoughts for several long moments, Balthier turns to face the Princess. She was watching him incredulously. His expression is sad, lost, and against his nature, he lets her see it. See _him_. “Don’t follow in his footsteps.” 

Ashe averts her eyes for a moment, then looks back up at him. She doesn’t reply right away, seemingly still at odds with what to do, what to promise. It makes Balthier continue, a rant of suppressed emotions.

“I ran away. I couldn’t stand to see him like that, a slave to the stone. So I ran, free at last.” The last part is dripping with irony, and Baltheir shakes his head lightly. “Funny I went for the Dusk Shard. How could I have known that it was Nethicite? And then, of course, I met you.” He pauses, sighing to himself. “All that running, and I got nowhere. It’s time to end this - cut my ties to the past.” 

Ashe walks up to stand next to him. “It’s hard to leave the past behind, I know.” she says quietly, her voice full of loss and pain, and she averts her eyes to look at her hand holding the two silver wedding rings. She, too, has known the loss of a loved one, of a life that was meant to be lived, which is why Balthier lets his guard down and lets her in. Just this one time. Until now, only Fran, his partner in crime, has known of his past. 

Baltheir looks at Ashe, considering her for a moment. “The choice is yours to make, but don’t give your heart to a stone. You’re too strong for that, princess.” _Unlike his father._

Ashe looks away. 

“I… I pray you’re right, Balthier.”

So does he.


End file.
